The JellO Story
by Tex-chan
Summary: Often, it’s the quiet, uneventful times that try a person’s sanity the most. Sanzo and Gojyo discover this is doubly true when JellO is involved.


_**Summary:**__ Often, it's the quiet, uneventful times that try a person's sanity the most. Sanzo and Gojyo discover this is doubly true when Jell-O is involved._

_**Warnings: **__Bad Language._

_**Author's Note: **__I wrote this fic in response to a fanfic challenge. I realize it's a bit … odd. But hopefully it will at least provide an entertaining read. The challenge: Sanzo & Jell-O._

_**Legal Stuff:**_ _As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Saiyuki and its characters.(And Jell-O, too.) It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it_

**The Damn Jell-O Story**

Sanzo winced as the crowd cheered. The sights, sounds, and smells surrounded him, making him feel trapped and uncomfortable. It was as if the noise took on a life of its own. It seemed to grow and expand -- people laughing, talking, jeering, and cheering -- until it swelled to bursting, enough to fill the small arena and spill over into the night around them.

Sanzo was the only one in the arena who seemed to notice his fellow spectators. Everyone else's attention was riveted on the ring in the center of this open space, their eyes locked on the combatants within as the two fighters circled each other with wary, almost feral expressions, looking for an opening, until, finally, they came together in a clash of power that drew shocked gasps and cries of delight from the watching crowd.

Sanzo had no patience or attention to spare for this petty amusement. He couldn't stop thinking about how much time the unexpected lay-over was costing them. He could feel the seconds ticking into minutes, the minutes ticking into hours, the hours ticking into days. It all added up in his mind, making him fidgety and even more pissy than usual. He should be in Jeep, heading for parts west, not sitting here watching this debacle that, apparently, passed for entertainment in this town. Yet another reason, in Sanzo's opinion, not to linger here for too long. His companions were stupid enough already, and watching things like this could only make matters worse. He was sure they didn't have the brain cells to spare. Besides, he could feel the crowd closing in on him, and he hated that. With a passion.

Sanzo shifted around, squirming in his seat and drawing a disapproving glare from his companion. He glared back, packing all the hatred and irritation he could muster into the expression. This glare went beyond the old adage of "looks that could kill". This glare should have incinerated the recipient on the spot, reducing them to nothing but a pile of ashes and some wispy tendrils of smoke. That was how intense and full of hatred it was. A few of the people around the two companions edged away just a little, seeking escape from the effects of Sanzo's icy-cold stare.

Even so, Gojyo seemed unaffected. He shrugged in response, giving Sanzo a teasing wink that only served to irritate him further, as was Gojyo's intention, all along. Even worse, Gojyo remained decidedly among the living, refusing to be slain by Sanzo's glare.

Sanzo looked away, angrier than ever. Leave it to Merciful Goddess to saddle him with a damn water sprite who didn't have sense enough to know when to die and leave him in peace.

Sanzo fidgeted a bit more, pointedly ignoring the irritated glares from Gojyo and the rest of the people around them. It wasn't like he hadn't already earned more than his fair share of disapproving looks. A Sanzo Priest … in a place like this! He could feel the shocked horror of the crowd. What a bunch of hypocrites, acting all stunned over seeing a Sanzo at this event, when they were here, themselves. What made it even worse was that he didn't even like this kind of thing. Still, that didn't give the people around him any right to judge. Besides, it wasn't like he had stopped living when he became a Sanzo. Far from it. Now, he was living in spite of who and what he was. But he figured these people would never understand that. Most people didn't. So far, Goku, Hakkai, and Gojyo were the only ones he had met that seemed to get it. Maybe that had more to do with why the four of them stayed together than this whole, crazy "Go To The West" mission with which they had been tasked.

Whatever.

Sanzo didn't want to think about that right now. Maybe he didn't want to think about it, ever. But, for sure, now was not the time or the place. If he let his thoughts wander too far down that pathway, he would find himself unable to stay angry with his traveling companions. That would not do. Tonight, especially, he wanted to be pissed at them. He had a feeling "pissed off" was the only thing that would get him through the tortures this evening promised.

Sanzo reached into the sleeve of his robes to withdraw his package of cigarettes. The cellophane wrapping around the box crinkled as he opened it and started to shake out one of the cigs. The small noises were lost amid the cheers and gasps of the crowd around him, but they were still loud enough to draw Gojyo's attention. It never failed. If there was a woman, a bottle of booze, or a cigarette within a hundred mile radius, Gojyo would sniff it out. Sanzo had often thought Gojyo's antennae-like bangs served as some kind of detector, or something -- kind of like when he was a kid and he used to see people from the nearby villages using forked sticks to douse for water, except Gojyo doused for pleasure-inducing sins.

Sanzo expected Gojyo to ask for a cigarette. Gojyo was forever bumming them off of him, either because his own pack was always empty, or he was too stingy and cheap to use up his supply of smokes. Sanzo had yet to figure out which, but it was, in his opinion, one of Gojyo's more irritating practices. Still, he held the package out -- a silent offering borne of long-standing habit.

Much to Sanzo's surprise, Gojyo shook his head in refusal. Sanzo stared at his companion, not quite sure what to make of this turn of events. This had never happened before, and it was more than odd. It was downright creepy. After a moment or two, Sanzo shook off the uncomfortable feeling with a shrug. He removed a cigarette and placed it between his lips, as he stowed the pack back in his sleeve and began to root around for his lighter.

Just as he was about to turn the lighter on, Gojyo reached out, and, with a flick of his fingers, sent Sanzo's unlit cigarette flying. Sanzo watched in dismay as it bounced off the head of the person in front of him and slipped beneath the bleachers on which they were sitting. For a split second, he thought about diving after it. He had really wanted that cigarette. More than that, he had needed the damn thing. How was he supposed to get through this idiocy without a smoke?

"Do you wanna die?" Sanzo growled, spearing Gojyo with another icy-angry glare.

Gojyo shrugged -- a nonchalant gesture that, as always, increased Sanzo's anger -- and said, "There's no smoking here. If I can last for a couple of hours without a cig, so can you."

Sanzo sighed -- a short, sharp huff of air through his nostrils. The sound seemed to convey both his irritation and disgust in one fell swoop. But he didn't bother arguing with Gojyo. He wasn't sure why; he just didn't have the energy for it at that moment. He put his lighter up, stowing it away in the sleeve of his robe.

"What kind of fucked up town has a no-smoking arena, anyhow?" Sanzo muttered.

"I know," Gojyo replied, "It's barbaric bullshit."

Sanzo nodded his agreement. Now that he knew he couldn't have a cigarette, he wanted one more than ever. And, that sucked. A lot.

"Why are we here, anyhow?" Sanzo asked, trying to distract himself from the nicotine withdrawal induced ache that seemed to be spreading through his body.

Gojyo shrugged. "It's a festival. You like festivals, right?"

"No," Sanzo replied. "Besides, it's two women wrestling around in …"

His words trailed off as he squinted toward the ring at the center of the arena.

"What the hell is that stuff, anyhow?" he asked.

"Jell-O," Gojyo replied, a lecherous grin curling from one corner of his mouth to the other.

Sanzo groaned. It was bad enough that Gojyo had dragged him off to some non-smoking hellhole to watch two scantily-clad women trying to beat the crap out of each other. Somehow, knowing they were doing so in Jell-O made it much, much worse. He wasn't sure why, and right now, he didn't care to explore that particular train of thought. It just felt worse -- like he had, somehow, stepped off the normal world and fallen into the deepest pits of his own, personal hell … and, then, kept right on going. For a moment or two, Sanzo wondered if he could use the Banishing Gun to end his own suffering. But he dismissed the thought almost as soon as it occurred to him. With his luck, he'd get reincarnated into a life that was more hellish than this one. At the moment, he couldn't actually think of an existence that would fit that description, but, even so, Sanzo knew better than to push it. If he had learned anything in his life, it was that you didn't fuck around with Karma. And that was that.

"Come on, lighten up," Gojyo prompted, prodding Sanzo with his elbow, as if he believed the overly-friendly gesture would jostle Sanzo out of his bad mood.

It didn't. Sanzo glared back at him and stated, "I'm leaving."

Gojyo rolled his eyes heavenward, as if the stars above could explain why Sanzo was such an unreasonably pissy bastard. Of course, there weren't any answers written across the sky. Gojyo had a feeling even Merciful Goddess would be hard-pressed to explain Sanzo's personality. He reached out and grabbed a fistful of robe as Sanzo stood up to leave. Ignoring Sanzo's rage-tinged glare, Gojyo gently pulled him back into his seat.

"Come on. You know better. Hakkai and Goku told me to keep you occupied while they set up for your birthday celebration, and that's what I'm gonna do," Gojyo said, returning Sanzo's glare with a smile that looked innocent, but, somehow, seemed to ring false when taken together with the glint of teasing mischief in his eyes.

"I don't like this," Sanzo said.

"I know," Gojyo replied. "That's what makes it fun."

"For who?" Sanzo asked

"For me," Gojyo said, his words almost obscured by a low, throaty chuckle.

"Asshole," Sanzo muttered.

"Dickhead," Gojyo returned.

"It's not my birthday," Sanzo muttered, after the passage of a few silent moments that seemed to stretch out into eternity and beyond.

He tried to keep his voice flat and his tone matter-of-fact. The last thing he wanted to do was let on to how much this whole birthday celebration thing bothered him. If his traveling companions had any idea of the true depth of the irritation factor at work here, they would never let him hear the end of it. Sanzo had a sudden, nightmarish vision of his future if Hakkai, Goku, and Gojyo realized just how much he hated this ordeal. He shuddered as he pictured himself trapped in Birthday Hell -- forced to wear stupid paper hats, bombarded with idiotic party games, force fed disgustingly sweet cake and ice cream -- every day for the rest of his life.

It was horrible.

No, even that didn't come close to describing it. Sanzo decided, if he figured out what was beyond horrible ... and, then, kept going … he might come close to the terror.

Even so, no matter how hard he tried, Sanzo couldn't quite hide the underlying tone of irritation and disgust in his voice. He gave Gojyo a surreptitious, sideways glance and saw the smugly amused grin on his face. Sanzo felt his stomach clench with dread at the sight of it. It was one of those kinds of smiles -- the kind that told Sanzo his immediate future would probably look very bleak, indeed.

He mentally cursed himself for his momentary lapse, as it had shown a small kink in his emotional armor. And that put him at Gojyo's mercy -- not a spot where he liked to be. He could foresee himself bribing his way out of more forced birthday hilarity in the near future, and Sanzo had to admit -- that pissed him off. Almost as much as the no-smoking thing and the Jello. Left with no other recourse, Sanzo did the only thing he could. He glared.

"Whatever," Gojyo said, shrugging off Sanzo's paint-melting stare. "It's not like it matters. Goku decided everyone needed a birthday. We already celebrated his, and Hakkai decided it was your turn next. You know how Hakkai is."

Sanzo sighed. He did know how Hakkai was. That enigmatic smile and seemingly cheerful disposition hid a personality that could be pretty damn scary. And arguing with Hakkai was an exercise in futility. If Hakkai had decided there would be birthday fun, there would be. The only thing Sanzo could do was grit his teeth and try to live through the ordeal.

"Oh, look," Gojyo said, "They're asking for volunteers from the audience."

Sanzo had been so buried in his own thoughts, he had lost track of the festival's main athletic attraction. Gojyo's voice jolted him back to reality, but not in time to keep Gojyo from pulling him out of his seat and heading toward the ring in the middle of the arena.

"Here! Over here!" Gojyo yelled.

He traversed the distance from their seats to the ring at a frenzied pace. He didn't even slow down for the stairs leading down into the arena, but took them two at a time in his haste. He kept a firm grip on the sleeve of Sanzo's robe, just in case Sanzo tried to make a break for it, but Gojyo quickly realized he didn't need to worry. Caught off guard, Sanzo didn't even protest, but just followed his wake, pulled along like so much pissy dead weight. By the time Sanzo gathered his wits enough to complain, Gojyo figured it would be too late. He would already be in the ring, with his hands full of shapely, sexy, Jello-slick feminine charm. He laughed at the thought -- a throaty, lecherous-sounding chuckle that was lost amid the cheers and jeers of the crowd around them -- and pressed on, intent on reaching his destination. If he managed to get his hands on all that giggling, squirming loveliness, Gojyo felt his evening, spent so far in the company of the pissiest monk he had ever known, wouldn't be a total waste.

Sanzo finally came to his senses when they reached the ring. Maybe it was the sight of all that green Jell-O laid out before him, covering the ring with a jiggling, wiggling mass. Or, maybe the hurried trip down the stadium aisle had given him the time he needed to recover from the shock of being caught off guard.

Whatever the reason, he stopped at the edge of the ring -- one foot planted on the railing -- and refused to budge, no matter how hard Gojyo pulled.

"Come on!" Gojyo ordered, giving the sleeve of Sanzo's robe a swift, sharp yank.

"No. I'm not going in there," Sanzo replied, jerking the material of his robe out of Gojyo's grasping fingers and crossing his arms in front of him as he glared daggers at his companion.

Gojyo sighed in frustration. How heartless could Sanzo be, anyhow? He had spent the entire evening trying to entertain his grouchy companion, and all he asked was this one, little thing in return. And Sanzo couldn't even do this for him. It wasn't like Jell-O ever hurt anyone. It was a hell of a lot safer than fighting demon hordes.

"It's only Jell-O. It's not like it'll hurt you, or anything," Gojyo said, voicing his mental argument out loud.

"**Only** Jell-O?" Sanzo snapped back. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean these?" he asked, nodding down at his robes. "Besides, that shit's green. I don't do green."

Gojyo glared at Sanzo but said nothing, instead turning around to signal to the two women that they were coming. He was afraid they would get tired of waiting if Sanzo stalled much longer. Once he was satisfied they would wait at least a bit longer, he turned his full attention back to Sanzo, trying to gauge whether or not he would be able to talk Sanzo into doing the whole Jello thing.

'Not damn likely,' Gojyo thought, with an internal sigh of regret.

The crowd began to grow restless at the delay in their entertainment. What had started as a low rumble of discontented mumblings increased in volume until the din was nearly deafening. It was impossible to tell what they were saying. There were too many people -- each one yelling something different from the person next to him -- and the sound of it seemed to take on a life of its own, becoming a dull roar of unhappiness. Every so often, Gojyo could hear an insult or cat call, challenging his or Sanzo's manhoods, riding the crest of the noise wave. Normally, he wouldn't have taken that, but he couldn't tell where the insults came from and had no choice but to wince and bear it.

Sanzo didn't seem to care. He remained there -- one foot planted on the ring's top rail, arms crossed in front of him, staring impassively at Gojyo -- and ignored the jeers and insults emanating from the crowd behind him. He had made up his mind, and that was that. If Gojyo wanted to slop around in sticky green goo, Sanzo wished him luck. But they didn't both have to act like morons.

Gojyo had a perfect response right on the tip of his tongue. Something about Sanzo being a droopy-eyed, bald priest with a violence fetish. But he never got the chance to deliver his perfect zinger. One second, he had opened his mouth to hurl insults at Sanzo, and the next, he found himself, choking, spluttering, and trying to get to his feet inside a ring full of sticky-slick, green Jell-O.

He choked on a mouthful of green goo, swallowing half of it and spitting half back out as he struggled to his feet and wondered how the heck he had landed in this position. Someone in the crowd must have gotten tired of waiting for the entertainment to continue, taking matters into their own hands by pushing him and Sanzo into the ring.

Gojyo slipped and fell twice before, finally, managing to stand. He was covered in Jell-O. He tried, without much success, to brush most of it off of his clothes; he could feel it in his hair and squishing inside his boots; it even felt like he had snorted a noseful of the stuff during his fall. Suddenly, Gojyo understood Sanzo's objections -- all too well. Before, he had been blinded by the prospect of getting his hands, literally, on the two giggling sex-kittens who had been strutting their wrestling skills for the audience. Now, though, the harsh light of reality dawned upon him, showing him, in no uncertain terms, why this was a bad idea. Jell-O was gross. And, somehow, the fact that it was green made everything worse. Gojyo wasn't sure why that was, but, all the same, a little voice in the back of his mind whispered that it wouldn't be so bad having a nose full of Jell-O -- as long as it was red, or orange, or any color other than green.

A muttered curse drew Gojyo's attention away from his soiled clothes and sticky hair. He looked up to see Sanzo also getting to his feet, and felt a wave of hatred wash over him. Gojyo knew it was irrational and stupid, but he couldn't help it. Sure, he would have given his life to protect Sanzo on any normal day, but, at this moment in time, he despised the foul-tempered priest.

Where Gojyo was covered, head-to-toe, in sticky green goop, Sanzo's robes remained almost pristinely clean. There was no Jell-O in his hair, and none squishing out of the sides of his boots. Except for one small spot of green on the front of his robes, it looked as if everything had slid right off of Sanzo the moment he had stood up. Or, maybe his inherently foul temper had burned everything off on contact. Whatever the reason, Gojyo couldn't help but think about how unfair the universe was. Somewhere, he was sure Merciful Goddess was watching this -- and laughing her ass off.

Gojyo winced at the glare Sanzo directed his way. If looks could kill, that hate-filled, icy stare would have put him six feet under in about a nanosecond. It was clear Sanzo was rapidly nearing the end of his rope, standing in the middle of the bowl of Jell-O that broke the camel's back, figuratively speaking.

"You stupid bastard," Sanzo growled, glaring from the green spot on the front of his robes toward Gojyo. "I'll kill you!"

He pulled the Banishing Gun from somewhere within his robes and took aim, firing off two shots at Gojyo almost as soon as the weapon had cleared its housing. The action seemed casual, as if Sanzo gave it no thought, but, as always, his aim was deadly accurate.

"Watch it! You're really gonna hit me one of these days!" Gojyo yelled as he dodged.

"That's the whole point!" Sanzo snarled back, firing off several more shots in rapid succession.

Gojyo moved around the ring, dodging bullets. Slogging through the Jell-O wasn't easy. It slowed his reaction time, and more than one shot came perilously close to striking its mark. Each time, he managed to twist or turn out of the way, but, more than once, he felt a bullet tear at his clothing or slice off a bit of his hair.

The crowded seats behind him weren't so lucky. Each bullet that missed Gojyo zipped into the crowd to thud into the bleachers' soft wood. No one was injured; Sanzo's aim was too good for that. But the bullets created quite a stir among the crowd, emptying the seats in the immediate area of impact.

Gojyo could hear the panicked screams of the audience, accompanied by the dull, thudding roar of hundreds of feet getting the hell out of Dodge all at the same time. He couldn't spare the time or attention to glance behind him, as he needed all his concentration to continue dodging the bullets Sanzo fired at him. But his ears told him the story. The screams of panic and sounds of running feet painted a vivid picture, leaving little to the imagination. The sounds and emotions emanating from the fleeing crowd were almost overwhelming. Gojyo had a hard time concentrating enough to dodge Sanzo's bullets. Luckily, it didn't last long. Within a few minutes, the sounds trailed off to nothing as the last stragglers managed to flee the arena, leaving Gojyo and Sanzo alone, knee-deep in sticky green Jello.

Sanzo whirled, tracking Gojyo's movements with the Banishing Gun and sighting down its barrel in preparation for firing yet another volley of shots. As he turned, he slipped, twisting his ankle and sliding down into the gelatinous mass surrounding him.He threw his arm up in an attempt to preserve his balance, causing his last shot to fly wide of its mark.

Gojyo slid to a stop, doubled-over with his hands on his knees as he panted, trying to catch his breath. For just a fraction of a second, he thought that, maybe, he should give up smoking. He was almost positive he wouldn't be this winded if he didn't smoke so much. Then, again, he wouldn't be so out of breath if he hadn't had to run away from Sanzo's overactive mean streak, either. That thought made him feel better, and he immediately shrugged off any stray ideas about ditching his cigs. Talk about crazy!

After a few moments, Gojyo managed to catch his breath. He slogged through the Jell-O, coming to a stop next to Sanzo, who was just struggling into a sitting position. Gojyo frowned down at his companion for a few seconds as he watched Sanzo shake green Jell-O out of his hair.

"So, we done, or what?" Gojyo asked.

Sanzo nodded.

With a sigh, Gojyo dropped down to sit next to Sanzo, grimacing at the uncomfortable feeling of slimy-sticky goo seeping through the seams of his pants. He fidgeted for a couple of seconds, until he managed to find a position that felt like it minimized his Jell-O contact. Once he was comfortable, Gojyo leaned back, bracing himself on his outstretched arms. He stared at the sky. Beside him, he could hear Sanzo muttering curses under his breath, as well as the slight sound of swishing material as Sanzo tried to brush Jell-O from the front of his robes.

They sat like that for several minutes. Finally, Sanzo reached into the sleeve of his robe and removed his pack of cigarettes and lighter. The sound of crinkling plastic broke the silence as Sanzo brushed Jell-O off of the outside of the package. The noise was small, but it sounded too loud in the almost oppressive quiet that had descended upon the deserted arena. He shook out one of the sticks and offered the pack to Gojyo, who also removed a cigarette, nodding his thanks. Sanzo shoved the box back into its home in his sleeve, flicking on his lighter at the same time. Because it was encased in Jell-O, Sanzo had to try a few times before the lighter's flame finally sprang to life. He lit his cigarette and, then, stowed the lighter, too. After a few silent moments, Gojyo leaned over, touching the end of his unlit cigarette to the smoldering embers on Sanzo's cig and holding that position for a few seconds, until his cigarette, also, started to burn.

"Well, that was fun," Gojyo commented, the words riding out of his mouth on a long, tired-sounding sigh and a stream of smoke.

Sanzo added his own smoke stream, tilting his head to watch the white haze float above them for a few seconds, until it dissipated in the air.

"I got Jell-O on the damn Sutra," Sanzo muttered, frowning down at the Maten Sutra, which was still in its customary place on his shoulders. He brushed ineffectively at one of the larger green spots.

Gojyo leaned over to take a closer look.

"You think it'll soak all the way through?" he asked.

Sanzo shrugged. "Hell if I know," he replied, tilting his head back to blow another stream of smoke toward the sky.

"Well, aren't you worried about that?" Gojyo asked, his voice taking on an uncharacteristic note of concern. "What if the writing … I dunno … wears off or something?"

Sanzo glared at him. They had been sitting shoulder to shoulder, but, now, Sanzo scooted away, putting a small sliver of space between them.

"Don't touch me. I don't wanna catch your moron germs," Sanzo drawled, by way of explanation.

"Ha, ha," Gojyo replied. "You're so damn funny, I almost can't stand it. Seriously. Aren't you worried about the writing wearing off? Won't the floating heads be a little upset about that?"

Sanzo shrugged again. "It's a holy relic that guards Heaven and Earth, not a glow-in-the-dark map written with invisible ink. I think it can stand up to a little green Jell-O," he commented, sarcasm seeming to drip from every syllable.

Gojyo frowned, giving Sanzo an eyes-narrowed glare that did a more than adequate job of summing up his irritation.

"Well, I'm not cleaning it. Or your damn robes," Gojyo muttered, looking away.

Sanzo sighed again, as if he was considering Gojyo's comment.

"Fine," Sanzo finally replied, his tone grudging, as if Gojyo had just scored a major -- and painful -- victory over him. He paused for another fraction of a second before continuing, "But you have to explain the Jell-O to Hakkai."

Gojyo shuddered at the thought of what he had just agreed to do. Hakkai was going to be pissed -- the kind of mad where he smiled at you until your skin crawled and you had to resolve to sleep with one eye open for fear of the retribution he was certain to visit upon you when you least expected it. Compared to that, cleaning Sanzo's robes, and even the Sutra, didn't seem like such a bad deal, and Gojyo could have kicked himself for walking right into Sanzo's trap.

He sighed -- an angry-sounding huff of air through his nostrils -- and snarled, "Crap. You suck."

Sanzo didn't reply, but only laughed -- a low, throaty-sounding chuckle that seemed to float out of his mouth along with the smoke from his cigarette. As un-birthdays went, this one hadn't been half bad. Not that he would ever admit that out loud, or anything.

**End**


End file.
